Chapter 55 Rae #2
With my hair as a handle, he arches me until my spine is bowed and my shoulder blades touch his chest. I have no choice but to follow where he leads. My breasts bounce with every vicious thrust as he murmurs into my ear that my pussy is “so tight, so tight, so fucking tight.”
His other hand spans my entire belly to anchor me against him.
I can feel each of his scarred fingers pressing into my pale skin, scarred against unblemished.
The size difference between us has never been more apparent.
He’s so massive. So overwhelmingly, terrifyingly big. I’m a little chew toy in comparison.
“Look. Right there.”
He palms my throat and steers my face until I see what he’s gesturing toward: a mirror, tarnished and old, hanging on the wall directly in front of us.
And in it… is me.
Theoretically, it’s me. In reality, I don’t recognize the woman staring back.
She’s debauched. Naked, tear-streaked, ruined. Her mascara is pouring down her cheeks, and her lips are swollen and bitten red. Her hair is a tangled mess in the fist of the man behind her.
She looks like a whore.
She looks like a queen.
She looks like a creature made entirely of need.
Behind her—behind me—Lukas rises up like a conquering warlord claiming his greatest prize.
All brutal masculine power. All silver-threaded dominance. His chest gleams with sweat, his jaw is set in fierce concentration, and his gray eyes burn into mine through the mirror.
His lips curl into something savage. “Watch me fuck you,” he growls, his hand tightening even harder in my hair. “Watch what I do to you.”
If I had breath in my lungs, I’d laugh out loud.
As if I could ever look away.
The woman in the mirror isn’t really human anymore. She writhes and moans as she becomes what Lukas Lazarev wants her to be: a vessel for his own selfish pleasure.
His thrusts turn frenetic. It’s almost like he’s trying to hurt me, and I want that, I want it so fucking badly. The sound of skin against skin is wet and delicious.
He’s not making love to me anymore. He’s using me, wringing whatever he wants from my body.
His fingers dig into my hips so hard that I know I’ll wear the fingerprint bruises for days. I’ll be glad for that, I think. His marks on my skin, proof that this happened.
I reach back desperately. I want to touch him so I can secure myself to something solid as my world fractures into pure sensation. But Lukas catches my wrists, wrenches them behind me, and cuffs both together at the small of my back in one hand. With the other, he shoves me face into the pillows.
“Moya,” he snarls in Russian. Then in English: “Mine. Ty moya, Rae. You’re mine.”
“I— I— I—” I try to respond, but he’s fucking me so hard now that speaking is out of the question.
“Say it,” he demands anyway, slapping my ass for good measure.
“I don’t—I d-don’t know how—”
“Ya tvoya.” He presses my cheek harder into the mattress. My nose is filled with the faintest scent of lavender detergent, still alive after all these years. “Say it. Ya tvoya.”
I try. My brain is goo. My body is no longer my own. But I force my mouth to cooperate as best as I can.
“Ya… tvoya,” I gasp out clumsily. “I’m yours.”
That drives him even wilder. His pace becomes inhuman, his grip on my wrists bruising as he bends down to whisper against my ear.
“No one else will ever have this,” he growls. “I’ll kill any man who tries to touch you. Do you understand me, Rae? I’ll fucking destroy them.”
“Unhh” is the best I can come up with. It’s not even right to say that I’m cumming or not cumming anymore. The line between the two has been smeared away; I’m living in a state of permanent orgasm. I don’t remember what life was like before Lukas claimed me and I don’t really want to.
“Open your mouth,” he barks.
I obey without thinking. His fingers slide inside, pressing down on my tongue. Two of them, thick and rough, filling my mouth the way the rest of him fills the rest of me.
“Taste yourself.”
Salt-sweet arousal mingles with the copper tang of my own blood. My lost virginity, coating his fingers, now coating my tongue. I moan around his knuckles like the depraved thing I’ve become.
Satisfied, Lukas withdraws them slowly, dragging across my bottom lip, and brings them to his own mouth. I rise up onto my hands so that, through the mirror, I can watch him suck them clean. His eyes never leave mine as he licks one after the other.
“You’re fucking delicious,” he tells me. “My perfect, perfect girl.”
His hands slide up my spine, gripping, palming, before finally wrapping around my throat. A collar of scarred fingers locks against my racing pulse and clamps down just enough for me to gasp and moan while the world starts to go hazy at the edges.
“Where do you want it?” he growls as he keeps plowing into mine. “Tell me where.”
I know what he’s asking. My brain goes berserk at the implications—the recklessness of it, the permanence, the risk—but my body has already made its decision. It probably made it weeks ago, if I’m being honest.
“Inside,” I whisper. “I want to feel it. Make me yours, Lukas.”
He shudders against my back. A full-body tremor that I feel everywhere we’re connected. “Say please.”
It’s one last demand. A final test of my surrender.
I meet his eyes in the tarnished glass. Silver and storm clouds. Eighteen years of grief and loneliness, and me—somehow, me—the thing that broke through all of it.
“Please, Lukas,” I rasp. “Please cum inside me.”
“Good girl,” he rasps.
And then he lets go.
Lukas buries his face in the curve of my neck and cums with a roar. His cock throbs inside me, filling me with wave after wave of liquid heat. I can feel every drop, first inside me, and then on my thighs, because there’s simply too much for my body to contain.
“Feel that?” he gasps against my throat. “Feel me inside you?”
My body shudders. It’s never known anything like this before. I can’t even find the words to answer him.
“You’re mine now, Rae,” he says. “Marked. Claimed. Ruined.”
When he finally stills, he falls out of me, and both of us collapse onto the bed. I’m face down because I don’t even think I have the strength to roll over anymore.
The only sounds are us panting and the house sighing as it settles in the wind. At least, until Lukas speaks again.
“Thank you.”
I freeze, certain I’ve misheard. But he says it again.
“Christ, Rae. Thank you for trusting me with this.” His forehead presses against the back of my limp hand. “I’ll never deserve it. But I’m too selfish to let you go.”